The volcano in my brothers backyard

I had the most vivid dream this morning.  It was the most detailed dream I can ever recall having.  The conversation with my dad as we walked alone the fence was detailed and I could “hear” the tone in my fathers voice and the heavier breathing as we walked through the deep snow.  The trail in the snow had footprints that were both fresh and old.  The sounds of our feet on the cold, dry snow was accurate.  The dog we found caught in the barbed wire gate that had fallen down was whimpering and scared.  It did a realistic “happy dance” running in circles and licking me after I freed it.  Then I noticed the reason the gate had fallen down.  The ground had bulged up and hot water was pouring out of the cracks in the earth.  The bulge had tipped the gate post over enough the gate fell to the ground.  A river of hot steaming water washed across the road north of the old blacksmith shop and down through woods toward the old well.  The little meadow in the woods that always had less snow that other areas now was green with growing grass even though it was the middle of winter and other areas had five to six feet of snow.  The smell was like that of the hot springs Barb and I visited at Yellowstone National Park this summer.  We had a geothermal vent a couple hundred feet from my brother’s back door.

I woke up as I realized the impact this could have on the farm.  Best case was my brothers and parents had a source of cheap heat for the shop and their homes.  But if this was a precursor to a Mt. St. Helen’s scale eruption the entire farm would be gone.  Orofino could be at the bottom of a lake formed by the backed up river just two miles from the farm.  Lewiston and Clarkston, 35 miles down river, could be scoured clean from the valley floor as the ash and earthen formed natural dam gave way and a wall of water rushed down the narrow valley.

I’ll be visiting my parents for Thanksgiving.  I’ll need to walk down through the pasture to dispel the images from my mind.